


A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events

by AZGirl



Series: Musketeers - Season 2 [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode s02e01: Keep Your Friends Close, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Comte de Rochefort gets his comeuppance – repeatedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story actually came to me first and the story trickled in after. My first 5 +1 story… I hope you enjoy!

**ooooooo**

_“We could always arrange for an unfortunate accident to happen on the road.”  
_

_“Don’t tempt me.”  
_

_— Athos & Tréville, 2.01 Keep Your Friends Close_

**ooooooo**

**One**

Porthos was on the final watch of the night when he heard a strange sound. 

Hand on the butt of his pistol, he held his breath and strained to listen for any more unusual noises, wary of a potential ambush upon the camp. When it did not repeat after a long, tense moment, he relaxed, thinking someone must have made some sort of noise in their sleep. 

When dawn broke, he woke his brothers and sat down to rest until it was time to break the camp. It was a rule between them that the last one on watch got to take their ease while the others made breakfast and cleaned up. 

Noticing that Rochefort had yet to wake, he had to tamp down his irritation at the Comte’s continued laziness. Since the beginning of their mission, it had been a fight to get the lazy bastard to do his share of the work. 

Porthos looked up, caught Athos’ eye, and tipped his head towards Rochefort. Athos nodded his approval. Tired of the blond weasel’s laziness, it was time to ‘gently’ wake the other man up. 

He stepped around Aramis, who was preparing a quick breakfast for them all, and walked up to where Rochefort was lying with his back to the rest of the camp. 

Kicking the man’s boot, Porthos is surprised to not have a sarcastic, demeaning remark immediately thrown his way. He tries again, this time prodding the Comte’s lower legs, but there is still no response. 

He crouches down and puts a hand on Rochefort’s shoulder to shake the other man awake but is instantly aware something is very wrong. 

“Aramis!” he says, fearing he knows why Rochefort hasn’t responded. 

Aramis must have detected the panic in his voice and is by his side almost immediately. 

“Is he…?” 

“Definitely,” Aramis says. “Sometime in the last few hours.” 

“What’s wrong with him?” Athos asks from the other side of the camp. 

“The Comte de Rochefort is dead,” Aramis announced. “I can’t tell the cause. Maybe some type of fit?” 

“Can we continue on our mission to rescue the general without him?” d’Artagnan asks Athos. 

“It will be more difficult without Rochefort’s insider knowledge, but we must attempt to carry out our orders regardless.” 

Several hours later, after they’d buried Rochefort and have continued on their way to the prison, Aramis suddenly starts to chuckle. 

“You know what I find funny? Athos mentions arranging an unfortunate accident for Rochefort and the miserable bastard ends up dying of natural causes instead.” 

**ooooooo**

**Two**

Athos uses a belt to quickly cross the ravine. As they are escaping, de Foix is shot in the back. 

Once they were far enough away from the prison, Aramis began tending to the general’s wound. 

“What are we going to tell Tréville?” Athos asked, standing by ready to help if needed. 

“The truth,” Aramis answered. “Rochefort died while in service to the King.” 

“And you really think the captain will believe that?” 

“Why not? That’s what happened.” 

Athos ran a hand over his face to dispel the exhaustion that was creeping up on him. “And when he asks for the particulars?” 

“He was shot while we were escaping the prison; there was nothing we could do.”—Aramis shrugged.—“Easy.” 

“So…we’ll just leave out the _minor_ detail that it was you who shot him?” 

Aramis grinned. “Exactly. It was an honest mistake.” Becoming serious, the marksman added, “From where I was standing, it looked like he was about to shoot you!” 

“It looked that way to me as well,” Athos admitted. He clapped Aramis on the shoulder. “Thank you.” 

“We were fortunate that I saw what Rochefort was about to do.” 

**ooooooo**

**Three**

D’Artagnan straightens for a moment to help ease his aching back muscles. The climb up the inside of the well as well as their escape over the ravine had served to push the muscles to their limits. 

He uses the time to survey his friends, once more thinking how grateful he is that they’re alive. For far too long that day, he had thought that they’d been killed, that he was alone once again. 

Yet, here they were alive without any serious injuries amongst the four of them. The most that he could detect being wrong was that they all seemed a bit exhausted from the day’s events. 

Once he’s satisfied his friends are well, he does a quick visual check of de Foix and his sister, Lucie. From the looks of things, the General is not doing so well and may not live. If the worst were to happen, there was comfort in knowing that the man was no longer stuck in a Spanish prison and was back home in France. D’Artagnan prays that the General will survive long enough to be reunited with Captain Tréville. 

Finally, he starts scanning the area for Rochefort. At first sight, d’Artagnan knew he must be wary of the Comte and to not completely trust anything the blond man said. His friends have not yet shared their knowledge of Rochefort beyond confirming the man’s obvious hatred of the Musketeers. That alone is what makes him keep an infrequent eye on what the other man is doing at any given time. 

He spots the Comte talking to Alvarez and it’s as if they are more than familiar with each other. It makes a grim sort of sense for that to be the case, since Rochefort had formally been a prisoner under the balding man’s watch. 

Something strange suddenly happens. It was almost as if the Comte was inviting it when Alvarez punches Rochefort and the man goes down as if he had been struck by someone like Porthos.

Alavarez is escaping, running towards Rochefort’s horse, and the blond man reacts as though what had just happened did not matter. 

D’Artagnan is running forward to help contain Alvarez when he sees Rochefort pointing his pistol at the unarmed man. From the Spaniard’s reaction, the prison governor is surprised to be so threatened. 

It becomes apparent to him in that second what Rochefort had been doing all along. All the inconsistencies he’d spotted, the ones Athos had mentioned crystalize into only one possible conclusion. 

Before d’Artagnan can stop him, Rochefort shoots Alvarez, and without thinking, d’Artagnan readjusts his aim and fires. 

Rochefort drops to the ground amidst the surprised shouts of his fellow Musketeers. When he reaches the Comte, d’Artagnan kneels down to question him, but Athos grabs his shoulder and pulls him backward, causing him to topple over onto the ground. 

“What did you do?” Athos asked, sounding furious. 

“I was trying to prevent a traitor from getting away with murder!” 

From a short distance away, Rochefort says, “The farm boy...smarter than…than he…looks.” The dying man coughs and blood dribbles out the corner of the man’s mouth. “France left me…to rot. Jus’…jus’ want-ed…” 

Rochefort trails off and exhales one final time. 

Athos stretches out a hand; d’Artagnan uses it as leverage to stand. 

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have questioned—” 

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan says. “I was just fortunate that I happened to look over in time.” He runs a hand through his hair and gestures to Alvarez. “Well, mostly in time.” 

**ooooooo  
**

**Four**

Tréville was waiting for them at the base of the stairs which lead to his office. One of their fellow Musketeers must have alerted him of their imminent return as soon as they entered the city. Their captain greeted his old friend and ordered that the severely injured man was to be made comfortable. 

Gesturing towards the covered body still draped over a horse, he glared at his four best and asked, “What happened?” 

Athos cleared his throat. “Only hours after crossing the border back into France, the Comte’s horse startled and refused to calm despite repeated attempts. Finally, it”—he pointed his hat towards the horse in question—“reared up and the Comte was unseated. He must have landed wrong and broke his neck, dying instantly.” 

A look of suspicion crossed the captain’s face, making the four Musketeers shift uncomfortably. They could easily guess what the older man was thinking. 

“It was only once we calmed the horse that we discovered a snake that had been trampled by the horse,” d’Artagnan said, leaving the obvious conclusion unspoken. 

“No less than the bastard deserved,” muttered Porthos. 

“That may be the case, but how am I to explain this to the King?” Tréville asked. 

Aramis lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “The Comte de Rochefort died while in service to the Crown. What more needs to be said?” 

“Do not let your mind be troubled, Captain,” Athos said. “There really was nothing we could’ve done. It was an unfortunate accident.” 

**ooooooo**

**Five**

A bedraggled group of riders enters the garrison, and for one disheartening moment, Tréville thinks the body draped over one of the horses is that of his old friend. When he sees that de Foix is alive, he is relieved beyond measure though concerned about his friend’s injury. It had been far too long since he’d last laid eyes on the other man. 

After ordering some of the other Musketeers to take care of de Foix and his sister, he seeks to get a report from his four best. 

It’s at that point that he realizes that d’Artagnan has been injured. 

“Are you alright, son?” he asks, gesturing towards the wounded shoulder. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Tréville nods, happy that his men seemed to be relatively intact. 

“And Rochefort?” 

“We were set upon by bandits a couple of hours outside of Paris,” Athos said. “During the ensuing skirmish, Rochefort was killed and d’Artagnan was injured.” 

Captain Tréville could tell that he had not been told everything; far too much detail had been left out given the looks on the faces of his men. Their expressions were too blank, too innocent. After quick consideration, he decided to not pursue the matter any further and dismissed them. 

As he made his way to check on his friend, he could hear his men attempting to speak quietly, yet failing miserably. 

“Why did I have to be the injured one? The captain would’ve never known the difference!” 

“Our story was much more authentic this way.” 

Tréville shook his head, bemused by what he’d just heard. 

If he wasn’t certain that Athos loved d’Artagnan like a brother… 

**ooooooo**

**The one they agree to never mention again.**

Tréville stepped out of his office and out onto the balcony which overlooked the garrison’s courtyard. 

He was still trying to process the news of the Comte de Rochefort’s unfortunate death while trying to rescue Général de Foix. Tréville had definitely not cared for the man, but to be shot while crossing the ravine and then plummeting to his death seemed a horrible way to die. 

On the other hand, it was probably for the best that the Comte had not returned to Paris alive. Rochefort was the kind of man who would have taken advantage of his success to worm his way into a position of influence over their still grieving King. 

Tréville was due at the palace in an hour to report to King Louis about their rescue of de Foix. He was not looking forward to breaking the news of the Comte de Rochefort’s death, especially to the Queen who seemed quite fond of the man. 

He was attempting to compose in his head what he would say to the King when he heard voices drifting up from below. It was easy enough for him to identify the voices of his four best who were likely sitting at their usual table which was almost directly underneath where he was standing. 

“But Athos, that man looked _exactly_ like Cardinal Richelieu.” 

“D’Artagnan, we agreed—” 

“No, you three agreed, I just didn’t…disagree.” 

“Exactly. _We_ agreed to never mention what we saw ever again.” 

“But that blue box just came out of nowhere, and—” 

“D’Artagnan! Please!” 

“You can’t deny that it was a miraculous occurrence. And did you see inside that wondrous machine? It looked bigger on the inside.” 

“Don’t you start, Aramis.” 

“What if ‘e comes back? How do we explain that Rochefort wasn’t really—?” 

“Porthos! Enough. I will buy the wine tonight if you _all_ will agree to never mention what happened _ever_ again!” 

Tréville heard Aramis, d’Artagnan, and Porthos grudgingly agree to Athos’ offer. Seconds later he saw Athos quickly striding across the yard and towards the gates leading out into the streets, Porthos lengthening his stride to catch up. 

As Aramis and d’Artagnan followed after their brothers, he heard Aramis say: 

“D’Artagnan, if you do that too often, Athos _will_ catch on.” 

“I think he knew exactly what I was doing and just used it as an excuse to drink.” 

Aramis laughed and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “You’re probably right. After what happened today, I think we can all use a drink.” 

“Or two.” 

“Or three.” 

They both laughed and hurried towards the gate. 

Captain Tréville didn’t know what to think about everything he’d just heard his Musketeers say. Rochefort wasn’t what…? Dead? Why would his men lie to him about something so important? 

Though, to be fair, he could totally understand why they had lied. 

After all, he’d done the very same thing the first time he’d met The Doctor. 

**ooooooo**

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to celticgirl1041 for the beta! I edited a bit after it was read, so all remaining mistakes are most definitely my fault…
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
